Page 82 of O Goalie Night
“How are you liking Ottawa?” He leans in close, to be heard above the song.
“I love it,” I answer honestly. My heart will always belong to the Island, but I’m so glad I took this chance and moved here.
“You know,” he scans the room coyly. “I offered to get you at the airport.”
“Did you, now?”
“Damn straight. I practically begged for the job, in fact. Not that it would have been a chore at all. But your big brother made Foster go.”
I wobble on my heels and nearly twist my ankle. It’s a slow song and I’m still struggling.
“I’m sure you would have been a perfect chauffeur.”
“A better roommate, too.” When he pumps his eyebrows up and down, I can’t help but laugh.
Austin is a natural-born flirt, but he seems perfectly harmless. He’s the sort of guy who enjoys the chase more than the catch.
He leads us into a turn. I try to keep up but step the wrong way and ram my knee into his leg. His arms wrap around me to keep me from falling over. “I’m so sorry!” It probably hurt me more than the trunk he calls a limb, but I feel bad nonetheless.
“It’s fine,” he laughs.
“I’m a horrible dancer,” I admit.
“You just need practice,” he insists.
“Or a better partner.”
Foster’s unexpected voice startles us both, causing Austin to tighten his grip on me which results in Foster’s frown to become an outright scowl.
And that is what we call a vicious cycle.
“Hey, buddy,” Austin smirks at him, his arms still encircling me. “Just keeping her company, like I said I would.”
“You never said that.” Foster’s glare turns downright murderous.
“Sure I did. Just not loud enough for you or Ben to hear me.”
Oh, he is an outright scamp. He grins at Foster, almost daring him to say something, but Foster refuses to take the bait.
“Well, my work here is done. Thank you for the dance,Beth.” Austin brings my hand up to his and kisses it. “I look forward to our next one.” He gives me a wink and then makes a quick exit.
I expect Foster’s mood to improve once he’s gone, but it doesn’t. “Are you ready to go?” His tone is clipped.
“Where’s Ben?”
“I got him and Valentina a car service; they’re headed home.”
“Is he okay?”
“No, but he’s going to be. They’ve got a lot to talk about.”
The walk to the underground parking garage is a quiet one. I keep glancing up at Foster’s controlled expression wondering what’s wrong.
Is there something he’s not telling me about Ben? Or maybe he’s just overstimulated from being around so many people. Could he be angry at me?
By the time we reach the car, my brain is spinning with scenarios, none of them good.
“Did I do something?”
